


No One to Comfort Me or Guide Me

by quicksilverdeancas (quicksilvermalec)



Series: Sam Winchester Bingo [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Birthdays, Canonverse! yay!, Cute Sam Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, HA PSYCH YOU THOUGHT BITCH, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Loved Sam Winchester, Sammy feels, aaaaaaaaanywhooooooooo, all the feels, enjoooyyy, if anyone says 'me' in the comments, like them's fighting words, literally who doesn't love Sammy Winchester?, poor Sam nobody appreciates him, you better square up because that is my BABY YOU ARE SLANDERING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 04:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20868548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilvermalec/pseuds/quicksilverdeancas
Summary: In which the issue is that Sam loves everyone too much and nobody loves him enough.





	No One to Comfort Me or Guide Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/gifts).

> LKFJD:LFKJSD:LKJF IM SORRY
> 
> For Vik because she gave me the idea to write this and she's fuckin awesome ;-)
> 
> This was also written for my Sam Winchester bingo and covers the square "Hurt/Comfort".
> 
> Enjoy.

It stung a little bit, not gonna lie. It was hard for Sam to know that he did all those things and nobody ever really acknowledged it. Nobody did that shit for him just because they loved him, because they appreciated him, because they wanted him around.

But he did.

Castiel didn’t have a birthday, so Dean had assigned him one. His unofficial birthday was now July 12th. And ten months ago, despite the fact that they were in the middle of some crazy shit and Dean had argued that they didn’t have time, Sam had put hunting – had put _everything _– on hold just to give Cas the full experience of being a human, and that included going out and buying things that Cas had always wanted and throwing him a birthday party. (And yes, Dean chipped in, Dean bought a couple of gifts, and no, Sam did not want to know what they were, because he was 90% sure that they were only important and/or relevant in their shared bedroom.)

And just three and a half months ago, he’d done almost the same thing for his brother, but for different reasons and with a different process. He’d gotten up at four in the morning, set his special playlist (which was called “Dean Rock Shit”) at full volume, and cooked up pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, made breakfast burritos, and brought it to his brother who was a lazy fucker and most certainly did not want to leave his bed for the entirety of his fortieth birthday.

And at 9am when Sam finally brought it to him, he had _Heat of the Moment_ playing, blasting from the huge speaker behind him, and Dean groaned. “Dude,” he muttered. “Asia? Seriously?”

Sam smirked. “Come on, man, you love this song and you know it.” He handed him his plate. “And it’s January 24th, man! You’re forty! Happy birthday!”

And he’d kept on grinning right up until the moment a smile started to split across his big brother’s face, because that was when he knew he had succeeded.

Sam Winchester was thirty-six years old, to the day, and he didn’t think that he would ever stop being at least partially the little brother who idolized and despised his brother in equal measure and would do literally anything to earn his approval.

Aaaaaaaaaaand… that was the problem, right there. Sam Winchester was thirty-six years old _to the day_ – “happy birthday, Sammy!” said no one – and at ten o’ clock at night, he was sitting in an almost-empty bar, drinking beer alone, and no one – not his brother, not his best friend, not his unofficial adopted son – had wished him a happy birthday or even seemed to remember. And yeah, maybe it was a stupid, small thing to be sad over considering that he had watched several of his girlfriends and boyfriends die, had been to literal hell, had to kill and torture a lot of people, lost his brother over and over and over again… but he couldn’t help it.

It hurt a _lot _to be underappreciated.

It occurred to him that maybe this was how Castiel felt all the time. After all, they never seemed to ask him about what was going on with him. They just kept calling on him time and again, demanding things of him and forcing him to help them, even when he really did have bigger fish to fry.

Dean especially. Sam considered that. Dean often treated Cas like he was simply a tool, at the ready for them to use and then put away until they needed it again. But Cas was a human, or almost one, and he had emotions and issues like humans did, and they needed and deserved to be taken into account.

They needed to change some shit.

_If this is how Cas feels all the time_, Sam thought as he ordered another beer – and was that six or seven? he’d lost count – _then it’s no wonder why he hates to be around us so much. It’s no wonder he despises his friendship with Dean almost as much as he values it._

He downed half the beer in one gulp. _I wish I knew how to fix these things. Maybe if I could fix it, if I could do something, anything, it would be better, they would be better, I would be better. We all would be better off, if I could change anything._

But change it he could not, and Sam knew that. He finished his beer, slammed it on the counter so hard hairline fractures appeared in the glass, and made his way out of the bar.

The bunker was dark when he got back, and he cursed. “Guys,” he groaned. “Fuck, guys, why you gotta leave all the lights off? I can’t see, I need to see so I don’t die. Fuckin… guys I’m too drunk for this,” he slurred, as if to prove his point.

And then there was a hand on his shoulder and he was being guided to a chair. “What the- what the hell? Show your damn faces, I’ll fight you!”

“Sammy, you’re too drunk to fight anyone, and you and I both know you couldn’t take me,” Dean’s amused voice issued from the darkness.

Suddenly the lights flipped on and Sam shielded his eyes. “Wha…” There was a big blue banner hanging in front of him. _Happy Birthday!_ it read, and then smaller was a list of names, and Sam snorted.

_Sam_  
_Sammy_  
_ Samster_  
_ Samoose_  
_ Sammikins_  
_ Samozzarella_  
_ Sammich_  
_ Samburger_  
_ Sammo_  
_ Samalicious_  
_ Moosekavitch_

“Samozzarella?” Sam asked incredulously. “That’s fucking-” he doubled over in laughter. “Okay, that’s the best one. That’s my new favorite. Wherever Gabe is right now, congratulate him on that one.”

Dean smiled. “We love you, Sam, okay? We’re so lucky we have you.”

Sam was totally going to blame the alcohol on how eagerly he hugged his brother. Dean didn’t need to know that that was all Sam.

And three hours later, after quite a bit more alcohol and cake and a gift from everyone, Sam fell into his bed and sighed. His family did love him.

His family loved him.

He drifted into unconsciousness replaying that thought in his mind again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> I like these kinds of things. I like Sam thinking he's worthless and everyone else proving him fucking WRONG. BECAUSE HE IS. SAM WINCHESTER DESERVES THE GODDAMN WORLD AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ON THAT. AND YES I AM A TINY HUMAN SO YOU WILL BEAT ME BUT I DON'T FUCKIN CARE. IT'S SAMMY!
> 
> Love,  
-Dean


End file.
